


Autumnal Change

by sugarby



Category: Death Parade (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, College AU, F/M, Gen, incidental intervention of relationships and self-pity, small cafe dates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 00:51:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5519411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarby/pseuds/sugarby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Decim isn't one for coffee early in the morning (or a lot of things in life, actually), but he's polite if not capable. So, he figures he <em>ought</em> to <em>at least</em> humor Chiyuki, the woman who currently has partial control over his academic status. In turn, she ensures that her partner is introduced to new things and the sun once in a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Autumnal Change

**Author's Note:**

> _I started and meant to have this done not long after Halloween, which is when I finished the show (good series, that; but the ending). I know it's Winter now and it'll be new year's soon, but I'm not changing the title. It's alright because Autumn and Winter are both cold seasons. I'm glad to have just finished this, finally (though the ending scene needs polishing up and will be soon) because it's been ages since I finished and posted something up. It takes me longer to these days. So this is mostly for myself, but if you happen to have read and enjoy this then thanks.  
>     
> Happy holidays! I'll proofread later <3 ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ_

Every morning in his college lifestyle, Decim awakes and prepares himself a cup of freshly brewed tea, in the same ordinary, white china cup among a stack inside a small cabinet that sits on his chest of drawers. Before anything else—before he admires the risen sun and welcomes the day, before he acknowledges the singing birds nestled in the tree beside his window, before he goes through in his mind what he needs to get done today, he does this.

But today isn't one of those mornings.

Momentarily, he forgets that. And that's quite unlike himself—he, who pays mind to details, no matter how small or trivial they may be, and gathers every bit of information he can, like ingredients, to come to a fair conclusion; he, who is  _punctual_ and focused.  _But then_ , this circumstance that's bringing about the obstruction to his morning routine is quite unlike itself, too.

The door to his single dorm room is knocked on a couple times, unfamiliar, cautious, but expected. There's a voice on the other side, "Hello, you in there? It's me. Uh—hey, don't tell me you're still sleeping..." becoming a little embarrassed by the assumption that they'd be recognized simply by saying "it's me!", they sort of mumble to themselves at the end, uncertain if they're an intruding disturbance or not.

Decim negates a light sigh that ought to come out (anyone else would grant it that, but then he'd be thought to be horribly ill-mannered when he's, truthfully, the opposite). He walks to it in steady steps, versing against the tempo of the visitor's fists hitting the door. Not many visit Decim in his dorm; actually, aside from the friends he can count on a hand, he doesn't get any.

 _She_ 's early.

Excavating through his mind while on way to greet the visitor, he returns to just the other day when this change in routine was about to happen.

It was in Literature class, which he attended on time and sat near the back of the room with his friends like usual, and waited for the latest assignment that always came on the first Monday of the month to be explained. He wasn't expecting the  _twist_  that came. The class had always allowed work to be done in groups of three to six up until this one occasion—a structure Decim and his friends adapted to long ago and were very comfortable with—where the teacher revealed it now required  _pairs_ , no number higher or less than two people.

The class was enveloped in a storm of hysteria, half speechless and half debating for alterations on the assigned pairs the teacher had already written the night before.

Decim felt a little conned, believing the following years to come in a class he was good in would treat him with consideration. There he sat, frozen, nearly enough. Neither fear nor doubt fell in to the space where his emotions were usually retained undiscovered, but concern in regards to the likely clash between his...'stale' personality and someone else's more tolerable character. Decim didn't mind his own company, but he isn't ignorant to why that's the case most of the time; he knows his classmates would sooner flee than stay in his 'intimidating' company (these quotes are the chosen adjectives of classmates when they whisper about him not too quietly).

His long-term, opinionated friend, Nona, took one look at him and read him well like she always can. Apparently it was the certain face he made which gave him away and warranted her cooing at him, like an abandoned puppy. "It can't be helped," she told him, intending for her dry tone to carry comfort comforting. Decim thought it was alright for her to say that, her partner conveniently being an acquaintance from another class. Nona's eyes moved to Decim's assignment partner, the black-haired woman at a desk near the front row, "But, hey, go easy on her, okay?"

"Easy?"

"You work in systems; you're used to making your mind up about a person with additional input from others—together with us, not just by yourself. True or not true?"

"True."

Nona caught his next change in expression. No matter how neutral it remained  _technically_ , she could see through it for the harbored defeat. In this rare instance, Decim wasn't able to take control over a situation by inserting his opinions, and so he felt inadequate. She gently touched a hand to his cheek, "Decim, listen...it's doubtful that in this college there are more people like us who volunteer as arbiters and judge the populace. No one wants to be judged for their mistakes or their regrets, yet we do it just because, and we're sure that only we can."

Decim spoke no word against or in agreement to her.

Nona continued to "comfort" him, "Your partner  _could_  be like us," next she smiled with a little mischief, "Or like you: a philosophical nut-case."

"I see."

"Trust me, you just have to do your work. She could actually be nice. And you could do with another friend,  _you lonely dummy_." a little nicknamed she liked to call him by sometimes, with no malicious intent whatsoever; just the fact that he often behaved neutrally, keeping enthusiasm and any and all presentation of feelings far below the surface.

Decim politely bowed his head to her the way he always did, "Thank you, Miss. Nona, I shall consider your words of encouragement."

Nona showed him a smile for all of four seconds. Then, turning her head to their other friend, Ginti, arguing with his partner, a girl named Maayu who was yelling about wanting to be paired with a guy named Harada, she wondered, "What do you reckon, Decim? Think Ginti will last being that girl's partner?"

"I cannot say for certain," Decim said, observing the pair. "But some people believe in miracles."

Nona tipped her head back and laughed outright. Ginti heard and rightfully guessed the two were making fun of him, but solely attacked Decim, "Shut up! Like you're not in deep shit, too!" he shouted at them. Then his own partner shouted at him for his "ridiculous" behavior and about how she didn't want to have to work with him. Ginti remarked, "No shit, you're not my first choice neither, dammit."

Decim felt confident he could answer Nona's question now, "I think Ginti stands a chance of failing, Miss. Nona."

Ginti was furious, turning back on him with a sharply pointed finger, "I said SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

The snaps of a thumb and a finger expunge Decim's focus from the past, and, blinking once, he settles on the visitor standing in front of him, and he refocuses on the present. She looks at him, mildly lost. "Excuse me..." she offers for her boldly chosen method of rising him out of his deep thoughts.

"No, I apologize, Miss. Chiyuki." Decim says, and offers her a light tip of his head. "I was engaged in thought of the previous day."

"That's...okay."

Decim steps aside from the door and spreads an arm out, "Would you like to come in?" he asks, with plans to offer her a warm beverage—the same warm beverage he had planned to drink, the same warm beverage he drinks every morning other than this one.

"...Actually, Decim? I thought we would..." Chiyuki's face twists to a portrayal of her indecisiveness, with the feature of her bottom lip being bitten and lightly chewed as she thinks her plan through. She supposedly succumbs to a more impulsive trait within herself, because just when Decim's about to offer that he help her come to a decision—by which, firstly, he'll need a collection of information on her so that his help may be at it's best and his conclusion a result of thorough analysis—she takes hold of his hand and leads him out, with the mention of coffee dangling from her lips.

 

***   *   *   ***

 

"What do you mean you've never tried coffee?"

"I meant to say that not once have I ever consumed it for my morning hot beverage."

" _Shut up_!" Chiyuki doesn't mean to snap and sound rude, and usually she doesn't judge. It's just awfully bizarre for someone— _a college student_  to not be susceptible to the hot caffeine drink; it perks youths up for lengthy study sessions, helps dull the hard, consequential effects of excessive drinking and partying. "You seriously don't even take it when you're tried or need a little "pick me up" before a class?"

"My work is usually completed before I consecutively sleep for the necessary amount of time."

"Holy cow...." Chiyuki, a tad breathless and in awe, settles with his explanation and leaves it there. She faces forward and looks ahead to their destination: the cafe across the road, only a couple minutes from the college campus. "Well, you're in for a treat, then."

He catches her off guard, leaning his head down and toward her, "Thank you, I am grateful."

 _Well_.

Chiyuki hadn't considered who she'd want to work with. In their class, she felt lonely not knowing anyone past their names, faces and where they liked to sit, not having her friends—or rather the small group she considers to be friends with her; through their circumstantial meeting, when things changed their ties were so effortlessly severed, their camaraderie estranged. Chiyuki takes it well enough—one day at a time. She's strong willed.

So...what does it matter if she's alone right now?

Eventually, she'll meet people, and their ties will be real. _  
_

Until then, the way her life is right now is the way it is, and she loathes how it makes her self-pitying. She's not the sort of person who takes one look at someone for how they appear on the outside and guess a thing or two about them from that alone, but...

...with _Decim_  it's different. He's not a thing like the guys she's met—not in reality or in a fictitious world. There's always been mystery around the almost silent classmate, and now they've been brought together in a partnership. Never before have they interacted, their paths alone scarcely cross outside the proper use of grammar and recital of old-English poetry and justifying murders among families of double-crossing and forbidden love. However, she's heard his one-word answers, she can always see his stoic expression, and she's always thought ' _there's no way I can stick him_ '. No, Chiyuki certainly isn't the judging sort, but she'd be lying if she didn't admit to being uncertain of their partnership since it began. It doesn't seem like it'll be a great thing—not unpleasant, neither,  _just_...

When he turns his head her away, she, submerged in her thoughts, can't turn away fast enough. She averts her eyes elsewhere on to nothing in particular and waits. While he's suspicious of her actions, he's also either ignorant to _why_ or he's intentionally not addressing the matter out of _mercy_.

They enter the Cafe with a bell ringing above their heads, warmth blanketing them, smells of all sorts of baked goods and seasonal beverage and chocolate and sounds of chatter and machines being worked invading their senses all at once; it's an orchestra for Decim and he's in the front row, these instruments blasting unknown chords and notes in both ears at a loud volume.

Chiyuki shudders the cold off her jacket and embraces the warmth with a lift of her shoulders and a sigh. She feels just about at home coming here. "This place feels nice, it's cozy," she comments with a smile aimed at everywhere she looks inside, from the decor to the people. "I'd come here to warm-up after I skated. What'll you have, Decim?"

Decim scans the place, sees the menus, the people, hears the chit and chatter and the grinding of coffee beans, smells it, and he's still lost. "I've never been a patron of this establishment prior your kidnapping me," she marvels at his shocking choice of words in describing how she _volunteered_ to take them out over working all day indoors, ", _'I didn't kidnap you! You're a grown man. And you're like six foot!'_  "So I can't be certain of my preference in what is sold here."

 _'Tea'_ he thinks to himself, because if not for this woman he'd have indulged in a cup of it earlier.

"They have a menu, you know..." Watching her partner blankly stare and blink every other minute, she guesses that, even with the menu, it won't do much good for a newcomer who won't know which is sweeter between one smoothie to a milkshake. Chiyuki believes, though, coffee, accessorized with fancies like creme or not, won't let her down. "I'll just go ahead order us coffees, then. Oh, you won't mind if they sprinkle a seasonal appropriate spice or sauce on top, right?"

"I shouldn't." he says. "Thank you, Miss. Chiyuki."

She wants to let him know that the formalities aren't needed and that he can just call her by her name, but while the queue is short and the wait won't be long, she wants to order them their drinks. Besides, as normal as her partner looks sitting all by himself at a table for two in the back near a window, she has a feeling slipping down her that if left too long there might be mishap.

When the drinks are paid for and brought over, the one placed in front of Decim receives a long stare from him. Chiyuki wonders if Decim's _really_ giving a _drink_ a look of suspicion, the kind a cop would to a suspect and a child would to an uncharted story or place where anything could jump out at them. But coffee, and the one little Snickerdoodle with an icing made-up face sitting on the rim of the cup, isn't going to harm him.

"Try it." Chiyuki encourages, and watches as Decim lifts the cup in his hand but waits a bit more. He leaves the temperature of the drink to warm his hand, then he brings it to his mouth, where the biscuit covers the same eye that his hair-style already does. The cup tips back, he drinks, it tips forward and is set down. "Well?"

"It's not bad."

" _Come on_ , be a little enthusiastic."

"I apologise, it's _really_ not bad."

Chiyuki can't believe it, she wants to _cry and laugh_ in the hands she hides her face in.  "Never-mind...this is just you, isn't it?" She breathes in and sits upright, determined to move on and begin their work. She tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear (without realizing the intense way Decim watches), moving herself closer to the table to save from shouting over the other patrons, "So, I have my phrase. And since you like to do everything before you sleep, my bet is you have yours, too. We just have to write an essay on them and mention ourselves."

Decim smears a finger across a top-corner of his lip to remove the smidgen of creme there as he elaborates, "We're required to individually choose a phrase which we perceive to be related to ourselves, and include an evaluation on the possible similarity between the two."

"That's _literally_ what I just said."

"Yes it is."

Silence.

Chiyuki's brows narrow though she tries not to frown  _too_ much, because nothing will be achieved from scaring him away. "I chose 'Carpe Diem'. You know: "seize the day, make it yours", or whatever."

"And I've chosen 'Memento Mori'," Decim says. "It translates in to a reminder that eventually we all come to die."

" _Jeez_ , that's grim. Who can even forget something unavoidable like that?"

"I believe it's an incentive for people to live a fulfilling life before they come to pass. I admire that."

"So, what, a life without regrets?"

"A _full_ life." Decim specifies. "Just like your phrase 'Carpe Diem'."

" _To seize the day_..." Chiyuki says in thoughtful echo. They're deciphering their pieces for the assignment like they should, but suddenly she can see this link between them—between two people who weren't more than classmates, _strangers_ prior. She didn't expect it; ...it's _nice_. "Hey, Decim? You and I have never spoken until now, but the phrases we've chosen...it's funny how yours seems to be about death while mine is about living."

 _Total opposites_.

Decim surprises her, though, "I believe people are alive because they'll eventually come to die," he reconnects the link he may or may not fully be aware of like she is. "So I'm able to understand your perception, Miss. Chiyuki."

"You can just call me Chiyuki."

"I believe I've been doing so."

" _No_ , no, no, forget the formality and just say it."

"...Chiyuki." he listens to her request and complies a breath later. If the foreign name he licks off his tongue unbalances him, he doesn't show it; he's simply his calm, reserved self and carries on like before. "I like how the phrases seem to share a morality between them, giving an incentive to live a fulfilling life before passing away—in which souls are then, I believe, either reincarnated, or they are sent to the void: an endless, dark limbo where they eternally descend with their regrets."

Chiyuki recoils in a little fluster, and she supposes that _this_ is why so many of their classmates are nervous about Decim; the intense gaze and chilling color of his eyes alone don't do it (plus, his hair-style is eccentrically cut, dyed and styled). "That's..." she's searching for the right— _unoffensive_ —word, throwing her eyes around on anything and everything _but directly_ him. "Ah, that's, uh...interesting."

"Thank you for saying so."

"No, _really_. Most people don't think about that stuff so...descriptively. Like I said, it's pretty grim."

"Yes," Decim says, but it's never bothered him. "My friends and I regularly exchange theories on life after death, though often just life itself. We study and come to conclusions about people. So that we're able to do this fairly, Miss. Nona doesn't feel it comprehensible to endow our emotions with dominance."

Chiyuki's head is spinning now, and it's not from the strength of her coffee.

Speechless, she's within her thoughts. Obviously this "Miss. Nona" is one of Decim's very few friends, and together they take it upon themselves to make their minds up about people—whether they do or don't know them, she assumes. But why, and based on what? Chiyuki doesn't ask, she can tell it's to do with what makes someone themselves; so their character and their habits and their intentions, and occurrences beyond their control that push in to the light their true selves. Helpless, lonely, ashamed, angry...a person's dark, embarrassing emotions they prefer to eclipse than reveal.

Won't everyone know about that? What it's like to feel all those unbearable things, right in the gut of their stomachs?

"Decim, let me tell you..." Chiyuuki intertwines her fingers and rests her chin atop them, elbows on the table and beside her cooling coffee; her magenta melancholic eyes lay on nothing in particular while a small voice of hers debuts with something like a lasting taste; she speaks and they both know they her words are lodged somewhere in their memories, where it'll haunt. "Not a lot of things in this world are fair."

 

  ***   *   *   ***

 

The early times of day when Decim would awake and drink tea come to feel too distant a memory as the days go.

Chiyuki arrives nearly every other morning in the spare period they both and whisks him off and away, sometimes to the Cafe—where they work until separate classes beckon them, and they pick it up again afterward—and sometimes to new places she takes him to, because ensuring that her partner ventures outside his dorm room once in a while is just as much a priority as their assignment, she thinks.

This is their small routine they've (mainly Chiyuki) temporarily set up, where they work, and drink coffee (then Decim cringes) and they learn a little more about each other. But they hardly, if at all, converse otherwise, including the one other class they both attend—but , funnily enough, neither noticed the other. They mutually, but silently to themselves, agreed that it would break their normal routine of just being classmates where, before the assignment, they didn't speak. And when it ends, there won't be a proper reason for them to—not unless either of them offer to take the plunge and go for it.

Chiyuki doesn't think it'd be Decim, and because he's a man of a few words, and because she can't read his mind, she can't be sure that's what he'll even want.

 

  ***   *   *   ***

 

In his dorm, quiet and alone with the eclipse of the evening swallowing up his room in shadows, but a lamp awake beside him at his desk, Decim's independently working on his share of the assignment when thoughts of Chiyuki come to him—well, respectfully, her role in this unexpected partnership.

Before meeting Chiyuki he'd imagined the kind of partner he, at the time, thought he was likely to be put together with. He imagined a man and a woman, he imagined them being opinionated and reserved (in that case, it would be upon himself to make _twice_ the effort to ensure stable communication), he imagined what he believes to be the inevitable when he's involved: confrontation, a dispute between one person's ideals and viewpoint on the world and another's unfamiliar depth in dark parts of life).

 _Disliked. Dismissed. Too different to be understood_.

Before Chiyuki, he wouldn't have fathomed his partner compromising with such an odd man like himself, or trying to get to know a little about him, or insisting he slip out of his routine system for new things— _coffee_.

In a word, Chiyuki is nice. She makes the effort, too, and doesn't _always_ make weird faces at the bits of personal perceptions he shares with her, as opposed to any other average person. She has her own in-put on things and light debates commence with her blessing. Between the exchanges of words, they realize they're just a little like each other. She's lonely, he's alone; she thinks about lives being lived greatly before death, he thinks about death being the reason someone is able to live a great life—their phrases are basically one in the same. But that's as far as they're able to see between them, because even if there _is this similarity_ , he doesn't smile if he feels joyful, doesn't tear up at notches of despair or— _if he ever feels_ it—irritation; he is not wired like most people, yet he is not man-made. He is expressionless almost by design. He isn't like Chiyuki, whose emotions are showcased in the way her expressions change, lighting up and darkening, softening and strengthening, the raising of her brows and the curves of her smiles.

Decim twirls between his fingers his mechanical pen.

He wonders if a person of apathy like himself can thoroughly engage themselves in the real motive behind the phrase _Memento Mori_. Can he do his part in the assignment justice, relate to feeling alive—without having particularly partaken in something spectacular—because _there is_ death? Decim wonders but he's not as worried as one may think, he can sure enough provide enough to explain his interest in how people live as they inch closer to death. But he can't speak nor write for his partner, and they must work together.

The line he leaves unwritten in her absence, the circle he draws around "Carpe Diem" in red ink and the question he scribbles beside it suspend his sleep a little; _  
_

" _What is a fulfilling life?"_

  
***   *   *   ***

 

Ginti's heard so many of Decim's unique ponders about life, death, time, and even sometimes tidbits to go with his Psychology class discussions. And nearly every time he's disagreed with them, casted them off to be foolish, irrelevant. ' _The man's a loose-screw'_ , he's often thought—sometimes is riled up enough to say. ' _He goes all out to be a polite pompous! And he always condescends everyone without even knowing it half the time!'_

 _'Geez._ _What a bastard._ '

And so, when he's approached by Decim with another ponder, no sooner than when lunch period starts and they're at their usual table center-back in the dinning hall, he's just as flabbergasted and skeptic. A red brow rises up with a disturbed squint as he says it back, "'What makes a fulfilling life?' _Jesus Christ_. And just _how_ the heck should I know, you moron? Did you hit your head on your way here or somethin'?!"

"Not that I can recall."

Ginti sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, "I really hate how you answer so seriously even to jerks like me..." he wants it to be over and to tuck in to his lunch, but Decim doesn't relieve himself of staring at him with such expectation and patience. ' _He's like a dog or a cold..._ '.

"Sorry, but this is important," says Decim. "It's for the assignment."

Ginti sighs a second time, "I'm not like you, okay? Asking me shit like this is pointless. Ask Nona or Quin, or somebody else. Just not me, understand? I couldn't give two shits about—"

"What?" asks Nona, far too amused to _nonchalantly_  appear from practically nowhere and join them at the table. "You're constipated, Ginti?" she grins over at him and can tell the obvious, that he didn't notice she was within eavesdropping radius (and that he wouldn't mind being swallowed up right now).

The blush smearing across Ginti's face is strong, so he turns away. "...S-Shut up!..." he mumbles through the hand he covers the lower half of his face with. The other hand points to Decim, " _This idiot_ here's got another stupid question. Wants to know how someone can say they've lived a full life. But it doesn't really matter, does it?" He's, perhaps, thinking what Decim has thought all this time: death plays a major role in the reason and way a person spends their gift-given existence. And, like Decim—Nona, too—he is somewhat apathetic to it and cannot ascertain an accurate answer.

Decim looks up to their friend, Nona, nonetheless. In her small, yet no less elegant, stature she is very wise, and she has her own share of deep thoughts herself. Sitting across from the two of them, her small lunch in hand, she says, "I'd say it's different for everyone. But if you really want to know, why not just keep doing what you're already doing? To completely understand the capacity of a good life from a bad one, try thoroughly looking at every nook and corner."

"...Every nook and corner..." Decim's repeats, thoughtful.

"Mhm. You could get your hands dirty, so be careful."

"Thank you."

" _Idiot_." Ginti says, sticking with his opinion on all this and Decim. He groans in disbelief at one of them in their small group overthinking something they do rather routinely—and it would _have_ to be Decim, wouldn't it?

Nona likely suspects, too, that this isn't just another one of Decim's ponders. The Black-haired woman he's partnered with matters a little more than if he's seeking a way to better understand her life.  _'Assignment, my ass'_ she thinks to herself in, amused and taking the first bite out of her campus-bought sandwich; but she won't spill her thoughts, not if he isn't ready and able to express them himself yet.

 

***   *   *   ***

 

" _Ugh_ , let's take a break." Chiyuki's always felt comfortable within her own home, and she hasn't played host before for any friend or alternative guest, but tonight, the four hours of writing, discussing and overall collaborating she's done with her eccentric philosopher of a partner takes it's roll on her, and before long she feels just about ready to lie on the floor, defeated and maxed out.

"Alright. You've worked well." says Decim, releasing his mechanical pen.

Chiyuki appreciates his cooperation and falls back on to the couch with a long, relieved sigh. Closing her eyes, she plans to relax for as long as she can—for as long as Decim will allow, until he calls for further progress on their assignment, which is due in a little while; about a few more hours and it'll be done, their phrases in sync and expressively relating to themselves.

It's quiet, she realizes in mid-thought. She expected to hear shuffling or clicks and taps of a phone, to maybe feel the space beside her dip for the added weight. Cautiously opening an eye, then the other, looking over to the living room coffee table, their work remaining atop, Decim is still seated, un-moving as if in standby mode.

Chiyuki lightly bites her lip. She probably shouldn't talk. "...Uh, you okay over there, Decim?"

"Yes, thank you for asking."

"...You sure? What are you doing?"

"Taking a break."

"I, err, think you're doing it wrong." Chiyuki truthfully says, then comes the expected confusion on Decim's face (as much as it'll show). "You look stiff, you can't be comfortable." tapping one of the spaces beside her, she encourages, "Come sit next to me. We can play a game."

Decim stands up, "Game?" he repeats as he crosses the short distance between the coffee table and the couch to sit _closely_ next to his partner; he doesn't fully realize their close proximity. So she has to somehow avoid offending him while she plots to scoot away a little; she's wearing a skirt, for God's sake.

"Yep." Chiyuki's lips pop as she takes out and handled her phone, in no time bringing up a simple game in which the highest distance crowns victory—and plus, the avatar is an adorable scoop of ice-cream.

"I'm familiar with observing," says Decim as he watches her start playing; he takes in the scenery, the platforms, the collectible coins, the cute cheer of the ice-cream each time it ascends by a power-boost from an apple.

"Huh? But then you're not playing."

"No."

Chiyuki tilts her phone one way, then the other, reaches a platform that secures her nine hundred feet. "Wait, are you telling me you've never played a game before?!..."

"I assume you mean besides the ones involving cards and character pieces."

Chiyuki nods, "Yeah."

"Then no, I have not partaken in any _electronic_ game."

"Good grief, Decim." It isn't really that big of a deal. In truth, the world is too dependable on technology nowadays, kids on electronic consoles. Plus, she doesn't think she should even be surprised by her partner's individuality anymore; he hadn't tried coffee until recently, mistook a spontaneous, early outing for _kidnapping_. "Well, look, this one's not hard to play." says Chiyuki, leaning to him with her phone so he can see the screen as well, "You just have to tilt the phone left to right to make the ice-cream jump on these small platforms here—you see? And collect coins along the way. Oh, watch out for these purple bastards."

Decim immediately looks to her.

Chiyuki happens to notice, feeling a gaze frozen on her. "What?... _oh_." She didn't give a second thought to what she said, just explaining something naturally without rehearsal and just her own experience. The frustration drove her to curse, but now she feels a bit bad. "Sometimes I can get like that, especially if I'm really in to something. Does it bother you?" she has to ask, sitting next to a man so polite and refined as Decim.

"My preference shouldn't influence yours, Chiyuki."

"If it bothers you, I'm sorry. _I swear_ , I'm usually a good girl."

"And do you usually play games like this one?"

"I have been recently, yeah. But it's not, like, an addiction or anything." admits Chiyuki, though her eyes are glued to the screen of her phone and watching her ice-cream avatar soar through the sparkly skies in glee. She can stop playing any time she wants to, honestly, she can. It's fun, but then she thinks it's not the least bit like another thing. 

Chiyuki swallows. 

When she plays this game, sometimes, she feels an emptiness inside, in a place where a very missed pastime once filled. She traces a hand over one of her knees, reliving the injury that damaged her world along with it. "...Once upon a time, I knew another thing that was fun."

"Ice-skating."

"...How'd you know?"

"At the Cafe, you told me you often came there to warm-up when you finished skating."

"...You remember _that_?"

"Yes."

She plays awhile longer, comes close to beating her own personal best of forty-something thousand feet before the ice-cream avatar plummets with a soft cry of defeat. She's about to end her turn and pass the game over to first-timer Decim—who looks a bit startled, honestly—when her phone vibrates with a notification. She takes a second to check the message from her mother (as it says in the contact bar), and in-between the moment the game is replaced by it, Decim's eyes catch the wallpaper image: Chiyuki dressed in figure-skating attire—white and sparkly and clean and enchanting—her hair tied neatly in a bun; she is, or looks, elated, standing under a complimentary light and smiling with twinkling eyes at the camera.

Decim stores that picture in his mind. 

He thinks, now, of any ice-skater he's seen on TV or in real life, or of how they ought to be, anyway; he bets Chiyuki's legs remember it all: every twist and turn, where and how to land after the jumps and prepare for the next part of the choreography. She'd be a swirl on the ice, a feather in the air—light, carving beautifully like it's second nature. The sunshine in this cold season will pamper her in an untouchable light—she'll glow, and she'll seem out of his reach, a fantasy, out of focus in her world she dearly misses, loves.

He doesn't ask her to show him, bets it'll be too painful to revisit.

"Okay, your turn." Chiyuki says after, handing her phone over to him. He clumsily takes it and she laughs because it's like he's never held a cell phone either. He promises to be careful with it and she tells him to hurry up and get on with the game.

Soon, by the hour mark, Decim wins with an outstanding ninety-something thousand.

"Wow, you did it...you beat me...!" Chiyuki says, mildly awed that her winning streak in a _simple game_ has been easily thwarted. She didn't have any competitors to begin with, though.

Decim bows his head to her, "Thank you, I enjoyed this game."

Although he says so, Chiyuki thinks something's wrong here because he doesn't appear as pleased as he claims. Most people would smile and elicit other joyous expressions when they win something. But as Chiyuki looks back on the time she's spent with him so far, she can't come find a moment he's smiled;  _not once_ , if ever. "Hey, how come you don't ever smile? I mean...you feel happy sometimes, right?"

"I'm not particularly dissatisfied right now."

"Maybe not, but you shouldn't be just "satisfied" all the time. Having fun or doing the things you love should make you feel hap—"

_...Happy._

She was, at first, delighted to speak in reference of what she loves to do, but as she came to the adjective it jolted a pain in her. When she skates, she also hurts. That's the truth now, isn't it? And she can hardly think of that as a completely good example for defining happiness.

"Chiyuki, you were saying...?"

"...Just that...uh," Chiyuki shakes her head and clears her throat to lose the dark thoughts that'll surely escalate. "Before—do you remember when Mrs. Umera Sachiko from the art department came into our Literature class, once, and asked us how we'd express ourselves without words?"

"Ah, yes, I remember."

"She told us that day 'a smile is universal'. 'Course, there are other gestures, too, like holding someone's hand, rubbing their back, giving a hug—" she all of a sudden let's out a startled gasp, and quickly, she becomes embarrassed by it. "D-Decim?! What's—what are you doing?" she looks down at her leg, where a big, strong hand went ahead and placed itself, a little above the knee.

"Expressing myself without words." Decim answers to her flustered face. "I'm showing you, Chiyuki, that I'm not dissatisfied."

 

*****   *   *   *** **

 

Every morning in his college lifestyle, Decim awakes and prepares himself a cup of freshly brewed tea, in the same ordinary, white china cup among a stack inside a small cabinet that sits on his chest of drawers. Before anything else—before he admires the risen sun and welcomes the day, before he acknowledges the singing birds nestled in the tree beside his window, before he goes through in his mind what he needs to get done today, he does this.

But today, Chiyuki comes wearing those white skates from the picture and dangles a spare pair by their laces, and it's so obvious today isn't one of those mornings.

"Chiyuki, you're...g-good morning." Decim's uncharacteristically verbally-unbalanced, unsure of what to make of this _other_ unexpected change. He knows this woman a little better from their first meeting but cannot out-right demand that she stop whatever she's about to do, and she's very much set on doing something.

"Mornin', Decim." Chiyuki greets, smiling.

 _So, she isn't going to...?_ "Pardon me but what is the issue with your footwear?"

"Oh. Haha, I feel like it today."

"Feel like what, exactly?"

"...You don't mind the high probability of you falling on your ass a couple times, right?"

Decim eyes the skates dangling from her hand, then her, innocently lost. "...I beg your pardon?"

"I could tell, yesterday, you were thinking about watching me skate."

"Yes." says Decim. And if she's initiating this herself, then, "So it isn't too painful for you?"

"What, you thought I stopped altogether?" Chiyuki tilts her head and looks at him funny like he's just said a silly thing. But, then, it's not too crazy a thought. Plus, he  _sympathized_ , for her. "I guess that would make sense. But I remember skating as much as I remember crying and...losing some friends." Friends made through a mutual interest in ice-skating, friends she only really saw and spoke to on the ice, _not real_ friends.

"I'm sorry to hear about that, it's unfortunate."

"Yep, life can be shit sometimes. Let's go."

They go out to the nearest ice-rink, and from there Decim's able to acquire more insight on his partner, and put his visual definition of ice-skaters next to hers. It can't be identical, Chiyuki's knee injury limits the moves she can perform. However, it is quite close to the way Decim imagined, and in place of elation there is, at least, content and calmness.

Later when Decim returns to the college campus, Nona and Ginti happen to be waiting for him outside his dorm and they see his bruises, his swept hair, his crumpled jacket; they see their friend, who is always dressed presentably, all disheveled and they laugh. Crying, supporting themselves by leaning against the wall, they laugh and laugh—for so long Decim feels it necessary to check his watch let hem know, for their own sake's, they've been laughing non-stop for over a minute.

 

*****   *   *   *** **

 

It goes wrong on a Thursday evening.

They're in one of the on-campus libraries, working hard to tie up loose ends of their essay, polishing it up before it's due in.

And from there, things...escalate so quickly—almost from out of _nowhere_. They're talking but then they're—she's shouting and becoming more and more upset, _infuriated_. Because he takes a peak in to uncharted territory, a _step_ forward, and then it twists and darkens and he has no idea what he's fallen into. 

Chiyuki still cannot read Decim's mind; she couldn't have sensed it was coming then, because she would've put her hands up and called for a time out—she likes to think she could've done _at least that_ if she knew, and spare herself the stress and her partner the insults and yelling (albeit justified). Maybe it was going to happen, eventually: their two personalities clashing. She just hadn't let it be an obstacle yet because she didn't truly mind his eccentricity as much as she thought she would on the first day.

Decim takes a step into uncharted territory, because to know a person—their worth, their soul, their reason for the things they do, say, trust and believe in, _love_ , even, the right questions must be asked.

"Life's really short. Things like _Carpe Diem_ and _Memento Mori_ really make you think about things. You know, like your last wishes."

"...I see."

"Hey, Decim, is there anything you want to do before you die?"

"I usually complete all tasks before I sleep."

"Yes— _no_ , _of course_." Chiyuki internally sighs at herself for not foreseeing that familiar answer. "I'm talking about _life goals_ , bucket lists."

"Oh. You're referring to a personal list of tasks to complete before death."

"Yes!" Chiyuki says, hopeful.

Decim hardly thinks about it, blinking once then answering, "I don't have anything like that."

Chiyuki sighs heavily and seems to deflate in her seat in defeat, with her head resting on the table, in front of her work. It's no one's fault; she's just spent all this time with him and forgets he's more man-made than human on numerous occasions.

"Do _you_?"

"Huh? Well...kind of. It's not much of a list; I wrote it when I was a kid, so nothing much except "enter competitions and win trophies" was possible. Unicorns don't exist, neither do worlds made of chocolate, and there are no knights in shining armor or charming princes to whisk me away."

Decim takes "whisking away" to be what happened to him when they first came together, when she took his hand and lead him out. His eyebrows raising lightly, "You want to be _kidnapped_ by strangers of nobility in armor riding horses?"

" _No_."

Silence.

"Were you able to at least fulfill that one task on your list: enter competitions and win trophies?"

"Yep, I sure did!" Chiyuki grins, proud of her feat.

Decim attempts to smile, "I'm glad."

"It was never a major task, or anything. I was happy to just be able to skate after seeing it in one of my favourite books that I read as a child..." as Chiyuki continues, her bright smile leaves her face; it dims and dims until it's eclipsed by a sorrowful frown. "Ha, then I went and injured my knee, and that was it."

"But you _can_ still skate."

"But not the way I used to, Decim—not the way  _I love to_!"

"Chiyuki..." Decim believes now is the appropriate time to take that step forward into her life, to have more than just a peak of the capacity of her life. He does so inconsiderately, unsympathetically—logic blurs his full sight of the dejection which doesn't belong on her face. She sounds regretful, like the people who want more chances while it's unclear if they deserve it or not. "You would like to skate the way you know and love to again, wouldn't you?"

"More than anything..." Chiyuki whispers. "It's unbearable sometimes, I—"

"If you could skate like that again by being reborn after death and then taking someone else's place on this world, would you?" 

Chiyuki's lashes flutter, bewildered. "... _Huh_?"

"Say you die and you're allowed to be reborn—to have a 'second chance', though it means replacing someone else on this world. Would you do it?" Decim asks her again, slower but just as serious, face just as stoic, like this isn't insane but normal, like it doesn't need much time to consider and answer for.

 _What kind_ of a question even is _that_?

"If your answer is "yes", I believe it's because you consider your life to be unfulfilled and regretful, mainly from the implausible tasks your younger self set, and because you're having trouble letting go of something you couldn't control. People like to be in control of their own lives, don't they?

" _What_ are you _saying_?!" yells Chiyuki, demanding to know— _no_ , demanding that he _stop_.

Decim carries on, though. "If it's "no" then consider the value of your list. If you can live despite it's unfinished state, was it ever really important to you? Did you make that list because it seemed normal to do? A way to fit in, a way to kill time."

"Are you... _serious_ right now? You're actually saying all this to me?"

"I'd like to know your answer, please, Chiyuki."

"N-no, _screw you_!"

"Chiyuki—"

"What the hell is all this?! You just bring up something that's completely _in_ appropriate and _irrelevant_! _For God's sake_! We—we were _working_ on our assignment, and then—"

"And then," Decim intervenes, confidant. "You talked about wanting to skate the way you love to again. And, _technically_ , it was you who brought up the subject of "Bucket lists"."

Chiyuki scoffs, scandalized, "So it's _my fault_ we're arguing?!"

"This is merely a _debate_. What is your answer?"

 _'Fuck you.'_ is probably what someone else in her shoes might say. And though she does have a tendency to curse, she contains herself. She thinks her answer could be "yes", for a moment, and that she would want to swap place on the earth with someone—a complete stranger—if it meant she could do what she loved to properly. But she also thinks about how that person, stranger or not, would be missed by somebody, just like she will be, immensely, by her mother if she dies soon. The question is unfair, and saying yes is selfish while saying no is hard on yourself.

Chiyuki places a curled hand over her heart. She supposes she can answer Decim, shut him up, but why even give him that? Instead, she tells him straight, "Look, not everyone is easy to figure out. You can't judge them by their appearances or how they seem to be."

"That is why we ensure a fair trial."

" _We_?! Who _the fuck_ 's "we"?!" she, surprised, says it too fast to hold it back. And surely, though she doesn't care, other heads in the library turn in their direction at the commotion. "Are you—you're telling me that you and your friends go around judging people?! Like in a little, judge-y group?!" Chiyuki thinks it's a joke and is set to laugh, but inside she knows it's true by Decim's same-old expression alone. He doesn't seem the type to make jokes anyway. "...You're not kidding."

"No."

"Why? Why make up your mind about people you don't even know?"

Decim spends time considering his answer, staring at her the entire time. Eventually, he lifts his shoulders then they fall, "Miss. Nona says we do it just because."

" _Jeez_. Is it _any wonder_  why people alienate you guys?"

"Judging is a normal expectancy. People are judged by their grades, their opinions, the clothes they wear, where they come from, among many other categorizations. I don't see how what we do is any different, and immediately stopping would be weird."

" _You're_ what's weird, actually!" Chiyuki snaps, just about done with this nonsense. She thought to humor him at first but it's gotten out of hand. "You're not the least bit fair when you judge someone! You catch them on a particular bad or god day, or see one tiny thing and sum them up just like that! You can't get all the facts that way!"

"Chiyuki, up until now, would you say you've lived a fulfilling life?"

"... _What?"_

"Miss. Nona told me one thing. However...I think we, and people in general, do it so we're able to measure ourselves. By judging other people, we're also able to judge ourselves in regards to our growth, our humanity, our success or failure."

"You're...you're  _unbelievable_..."

"Chiyuki, that day when we first met and you took me to the Cafe, you told me: "not a lot of things in this world are fair"."

" _Don't_...please, don't..." she doesn't want him to carry on with where he's going with what she said that time, because she knows exactly what and how she felt. She's begging him now, desperately trying to make him stop and see.

"Is that because you believe your injury has lead to failure?"

"Shut up!!" Chiyuki suddenly rises from her seat, the chair legs screeching as they go back and her hands slamming on top of the desk as she screams at him. There's no echo but it's like the whole library succumbs to a silence unlike before. Even Decim, who's said plenty, sits wordlessly.

He's serious, isn't he? About everything he's going on with. He was prepared, just now, to imply that her injury and difference in skating could be a line by which full lives are measured. He was going to set the bar low starting with her as some kind of example of failure! It isn't fair, nothing at all about any of this is fair!

"Just... stop talking," Chiyuki asks, voice quieter if not calmer. "You don't know anything about me...not a thing, not _really_."

Decim will admit that's true, but he knows her better than before now. "I set out to during our partnership, Chiyuki. 'Every nook and corner'."

" _Oh my God_ —!" Chiyuki moves to quickly gather her things, throwing everything in to her bag without a care. She'll fix it later, she just wants to get out, to get away. All along, the guy she's been trying to help get out and try new things has just been... _studying_ her!

"Chiyuki—"

"Our classmates told me that you were weird, and I took it they meant you're "a little different" from the rest of us, but—!" Chiyuki pauses to catch her breath, leaving her bag for a moment. But her anger doesn't settle, and she doesn't want to be here still. Her head's hurting. She's feeling hot, and nausea in her stomach. "I just—I _don't_ understand. What makes you and your friends think you have the right to do this to other people?!"

"It is an expectancy in life—"

" _God_ , just leave out the logic and _bull-crap_! Those aren't _real_ answers! You don't get it, do you? Not _completely_ , anyway. Not even _a little!_  Not as much as you _should_ and I can't—ugh!"

Decim voices the obvious, "You're upset."

" _Of course_ I'm fucking upset!!"

"Chiyuki, we're in a library. It would be wise to lower your vo—"

" _Shut up_!" Chiyuki can't even begin to believe he has enough nerve to throw _that_ in so late as well. She couldn't give a damn about upholding the rules of the library right now. "You know, I can imagine what you probably would've judged me for: wears too much make-up so she must be hiding her flaws, right? Quiet and sits by herself at the front, it's obvious she's lonely'!"

Her demonstration of what might've possibly, but more-so unlikely, been discussed surprises Decim. He blinks, and all he replies to her with is a thought he's held in his head since he met her. "I think you wear a fair amount of make-up, not that it's necessary."

"... _Jackass_." Chiyuki mutters under the click of her tongue, then looks down, feeling defeated by the small thread of guilt now inside her. _'Damn'_ , she thinks, because it's hard to scold him straightforwardly when he's thrown in a compliment. He doesn't realize that's what he's done, though. That's just Decim being Decim; none of this was ever meant to hurt her quite so much and yet it has. "Quit being nice when you're being insulted..." she tightens her grip on the strap of her bag. 

Decim gets up, moves round the table and reaches for her hand, "Please, wait—"

Chiyuki steps back. "So what if there are things in my life that I regret?! Does that make me pathetic?! I think _real regret_ is in the risks we're too afraid to take! I may have inured my knee but it was doing what I _loved_ —and it's not like I've stopped completely! And I may feel lonely but I had friends once! What about you Decim?"

"...Pardon?"

"Can you say that your life has been any more fulfilling than mine? You, who observes and never partakes, who rarely goes outside and tries new things. You, who judges everyone but himself!"

Decim feels he's practically hanging on by a thin line.

"Is making people feel like shit your "full life" in the end?!!"

_He falls from it._

Chiyuki turns around and walks straight out of the library, and he lets her.

 

*****   *   *   ***  
**

 

Every morning in his college lifestyle, Decim awakes and prepares himself a cup of freshly brewed tea, in the same ordinary, white china cup among a stack inside a small cabinet that sits on his chest of drawers. Before anything else—before he admires the risen sun and welcomes the day, before he acknowledges the singing birds nestled in the tree beside his window, before he goes through in his mind what he needs to get done today, he does this.

Decim holds his cup of freshly brewed tea, staring longingly at the door.

Today is one of those mornings.

 

*****   *   *   ***  
**

 

"You dummy." Nona is exasperated when she hears about it, sighing and placing a hand to her forehead for an oncoming, minor migraine. "Didn't I tell you to go easy on her?" Reaffirming things with Decim puts her in the perspective of a parent forewarning their child to avoid any risky consequences. And yet, _this_ happens. He's come to her, out of sorts from having his usual morning returned to him.

Decim bows his head, "Yes, you did. I am sorry."

Nona says it again, "You dummy."

"Ha. Maybe _you're_ the one who's gonna fail." Ginti smirks, reveling in the mishap.

Decim looks to him, "Why is that? Are you and Miss. Maayu unable to contribute to the assignment?" he asks, seriously.

" _Tch. Bastard._ "

"Decim," Nona calls. "I can't tell you what to do, but you'll listen to what I have to say either way. You've come to me now, confused, and with an odd question."

"Yes." says Decim. "Following the dispute with Chiyuki last night, I'm wondering, now, if we're, in fact, wrong to judge the majority of people we come across: people who regret and doubt, people who let their emotions dictate their actions. Do you think—has it ever _once_ crossed your mind that we might be wrong, at least in the way we conduct our judgement?"

"She judged you pretty hard, didn't she?"

Ginti says. "And she was probably right."

Decim sits there silently, making it all the more obvious they're right.

"Just apologise." Nona tells him with a motioning hand, like the solution is so easy it's practically nothing to be concerned with. "After that, do whatever you think is right. Then do your work, okay? She shouldn't be mad for too long." is what she _hopes_ , because she can't speak for all of woman-kind all the time. One thing she's certain of, though, is that Chiyuki isn't just another classmate, not when Decim cares to this degree.

"Understood. I will take your words on board as always, Miss. Nona." says Decim with another bow to her. Nona likes this unconditional loyalty he has for her, and it return it brings out something rare: her smile, genuine without hidden agendas or mockery. Long ago, she got used to steering Decim in the right direction when he got lost (just as she got used to smacking Ginti for the stupid things he says). "Will I also need to purchase confectionery?"

"Huh?"

"Excuse me. Is chocolate not often accompanying an apology toward a woman? Or is it flowers?"

Nona laughs. "Don't confuse a woman's right to be mad at a clueless guy for the monthly visitor! _That_ 's when you can buy Chiyuki chocolate—oh, and lots of ice-cream." she settles her chin in the palm of a hand and smiles.

Ginti whispers a suspicion to Decim, "Is she telling us this for _our_ sakes when _she_ gets the monthly visitor?"

" _So, anyway_ ," Nona says, "Just tell her you're sorry, Decim. And invite her to my party."

 

*****   *   *   ***  
**

 

Chiyuuki feels she can just lie here on her bed for a couple more days, not moving unless it's to relieve herself, or to eat—if she'll even do that. The incessant ringing of her phone, however—the impatience of one person begging for her attention is too unruly and loud to ignore. She leans over to her bedside table and snatches the phone, practically yanking the lid open and snapping in to the speaker.

" _What_ , Decim?"

"Hello, Chiyuki. It was brought to my attention that my way of speaking to you last night was improper and unfair. I unintentionally offended you, and for that I would like to apologize to you."

Chiyuki doesn't really take it to be an apology, just his concept of it—the words and how it should go. But it's the best he'll give besides the simple "Sorry", so she'll take it, but not sweetly. "Well, thanks. Listen, I don't feel up to working on our assignment anymore right now. Sorry but are you alright to tie everything up on your own?"

"Yes, it won't be a problem."

"Thanks."

"Chiyuki...are you available tomorrow evening? Miss. Nona requested that I invite you to a small gathering at her house tomorrow evening."

" _No_."

"I am inclined to work hard to convince you. Those are Miss. Nona's additional orders."

Chiyuki sighs, feeling more exhausted and weighed down than before. The yet to be seen "Miss. Nona" has a lot of influence on Decim, maybe a _little too_ much. She clicks her fingers and he obeys. He won't let this call end so easily. And besides, Chiyuki at least, now, has an excuse to not fill herself with ice-cream and marathon movies by herself. "Alright, whatever. I guess I can't really say no." she tells him.

"Very good, then. I shall finish up the assignment, and I shall see you tomorrow evening."

" _Yep_." Chiyuki can't help but act sour about it, even though she did say yes (she was forced to).

"Goodnight, Chiyuki."

The call ends, the dial tone plays.

Chiyuki sets down her phone rolls over on to her back. A big part of her doesn't even want to leave the house, let alone see Decim after the incident at the library. How she feels right now is similar, but not completely like, the period of time she spent crying for nights on end when doctors told her she wouldn't be able to skate anymore—that her happiness, her dreams were fading with every ache in her knee.

Why did Decim have to call her out on it and make her go through it again? She feels weak, exposed. Mostly, she doesn't want the night to lead to an obligation for her to spill her guts out to someone who likely won't understand the sobs and clenches of her heart, because Decim's that guy who sees you cry and only offers you a box of tissues and says "there there". He doesn't get emotional, his heart doesn't sink at someone in distress or pain; he just conceives how these emotions should feel, and he works from there.

The assignment aside, Chiyuki once believed there was no way for the two of them to carry on with whatever is between them, platonic or weird alternative. 

Covering her face with an arm and closing her eyes, willing herself to sleep, she'd like to foolishly believe it's possible to lay in her bed for the rest of time while her concerns deal with themselves, and the enigmatic Decim.

 

*******   *   *   ***  ** **

Chiyuki's about to cancel by text when the front door knocks.

Decim sneakily shows up to fetch her, so now she can't even run away (and yet, she dressed herself ready).

The most odd thing about it all, though, is outrageous, and right on Decim's head. It doesn't match his same-old expression, and the more Chiyuki stares at him and the head wear, the harder she's fighting an amused out-burst.

"...Your ears..." Chiyuki mentions.

Decim reaches up to gently touch the head-wear: a pair of animal ears, fluffy and adorable. "Ah, yes. Miss. Nona was lenient and reluctant to let me leave without first placing these on my head. She thought you might enjoy them."

A revenge gift, from one woman to another in a dispute against a man? Well, Chiyuki never would've thought. "You look...you are..." she can't form words, feeling something stirring up from her chest.

"Chiyuki, we should—what is it?" Decim is both surprised and concerned, having rendered Chiyuki vocally impaired as she holds her stomach, leans against the door frame and silently laughs behind a hand. "Is it really that amusing?"

"Hahaha— _Oh_ , you have no idea! Hahaha!" cries Chiyuki in-between high laughs and chuckles. There was no chance of her now staying home and missing out on all the questions and jokes about to come Decim's way, and they could very well be the highlight of the party.

 

*******   *   *   ***  **  
**

 

Nona's house is lovely, big and white, and very comfortable for the small party—or "social congregation", as Decim prefers to call it. (' _"Party" sounds too informal'_ he says in his defense). Nona herself is quite pleasant; she and Decim have this sort of sibling or adviser chemistry between them, and Chiyuki minds herself not to be the slightest bit discomforted by it.

Nona's first words to Chiyuki are, "Well, from the things I've heard about you, you're not a nut-case." and Chiyuki hasn't the slighest idea as to what that means. A compliment? Or an insult?

The man parked mostly behind the bar quarters in the kitchen, Ginti, is a bit rough around the edges, always looks as though he's angry about something, too. But he's alright. Not very opinionated past the "because it just is" answers, but his quarrels with Decim seem to bring out more in him—a hot passion for something. Then there's Quin who helps herself to some of the alcohol (and clearly surpasses her limit with the way she falls asleep on Chiyuki).

"My dear, why don't you give yourself a tour of my marvelous house?" Nona suggests kindly. Chiyuki takes it to mean what it intends: they want her to leave while they talk...probably about her. She can't very well say no to Nona being as this is her party, so she obeys and hops off her stool for another  _Memento Mori ('classy, Decim'_ she thinks on way).

Nona quickly delves in to the discussion, "Well, Decim, I'd say you lucked out with this one. You could've had any hater or weirdo for a partner, instead you get Chiyuki."

"Her partnership and company is very pleasant."

"Oh you, stop. What I'm getting at is...that it could work, how you want to change what we do."

Ginti's brow raises in skepticism, "Huh? You think? C'mon, don't humor this idiot."

"I'm serious, Ginti. What if the way to judge properly—what if every "nook and corner" of analysis also requires getting to know someone? Tell me, could you really trust in the resolve of a stranger? Would you really want their failure or success to influence yours without a backstory?"

Ginti grunts, "So far, I haven't had a problem not caring about any of that shit."

"Well I have." Nona sets her drink down; she means business. "I didn't realize how upset I'd made my partner when I told her something about herself she didn't want to hear/she didn't take it very well. I didn't even realize that I cared until...until I saw her cry once when we were working together. I judged her right but for the wrong reasons; I had yet to determine her heart, her worth. Sometimes its the _means_ that aren't justified in the end, no matter how hard one tries."

"You upset a friend," Decim spells it outright.

Ginti laughs, "Nona has a friend besides you, me, and Quin?" and then his head is shoved between the bar counter-top and the merciless force of Nona's elbow.

Nona shoves his face down against the bar and is inconsiderable to his pleas for mercy, for her to use less force on his head instead of acting like she wants to squash open a melon with just the palm of her hand. 

Decim asks, "What would you say if I told you that my thoughts on yourself, Ginti and Miss. Quin aren't equal to my thoughts on Chiyuki?"

Nona herself was wondering when this friend of hers would finally come out and express himself legitimately about their guest. The fact that there's an inequality in thoughts and feelings to report means her guess is right. She smiles, "I'd say "congrats, you _love-sick_ dummy."

Chiyuki returns, as curious as she left. "Uh, your house is lovely, Nona."

"Thank you!" Nona beamed, and her enthusiasm that was put in to a smile also sent force down to the palm of her hand; Ginti took the blow like it came as an incidental smack. Nona didn't apologise for it, though; Chiyuki chalked this abuse up to being part of their routine. "Decim, why don't you walk our guest home? It's getting dark."

"That's okay, I can—"

"Certainly," Decim says, severing the quick dismissal. One bow to his friends later and they're walking outside together under street lights, under stars, under the weight of the feelings the party left them with.

 

 

***   *   *   ***

 

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"At the library...I—"

"No, I believe I was _terribly_ at fault for—"

" _Let me finish_." Chiyuki commands and stops walking. Decim stops, too, and waits for her to speak some more. "I know you weren't trying to attack me. It's all down to me in the end, the way I react when someone brings it up. I can't do the thing I love the same way anymore and it sucks. It _really sucks_ , Decim." she sniffles, her nose wrinkling up like a rabbit with the tears threatening to come out. "Sometimes I judge myself, because when I cry it's not always just because of skating. Sometimes it's...it's—shit, I don't even know. You're right. I regret, I'm pathetic."

"No, I wouldn't say that you are, Chiyuki. In fact, I quite admire you."

"Shut up."

"Only if you are convinced." he says, arguing still. When she asks why next, he tells her, "It's natural for humans to express many emotions—emotions I, personally, do not express so easily. It appears to be a sign of weakness, and yet also strength. Chiyuki, if you can smile through your pain, are you not a strong, capable woman?"

"I don't feel I'm either of those most of the time, but thanks."

"You are very welcome, Chiyuki."

Chiyuki chuckles, because an answer like that is just so like Decim. She wipes her wet eyes with the back of her hands, dark smudges are left. Chuckling again, she says, "Look at me. My mascara's running, all smudged and ruined. Be honest: I look terrible, don't I?"

Decim comes forward, from out of nowhere pulls out handkerchief and volunteers to dab near her eyes for her, tenderly holding her well-crafted face in his strong hands. "I told you before that I believe you don't need make-up, Chiyuki."

Chiyuki becomes shy and can't bare to face her partner in such close proximity any longer, not under the stars and street lamps, not this close. She angles her smile down at her feet, "And I told you to shut up..."

 

***   *   *   ***

 

Every morning in his college lifestyle, he awakes and prepares himself a cup of freshly brewed tea, in the same ordinary, white china cup among a stack inside a small cabinet that sits on his chest of drawers. Before anything else—before he admires the risen sun and welcomes the day, before he acknowledges the singing birds nestled in the tree beside his window, before he goes through in his mind what he needs to get done today, he does this.

Today is _sort of_  one of those mornings.

Chiyuki's wrapped fingers around her cup of tea, sitting on the edge of Decim's bed. After her first sip, she embraces the warmth of the beverage with a sigh and says, "It's not bad. Oh, wait, sorry, I mean it's _really_ not bad."

"Thank you, I'm glad you like it."

Chiyuki's lashes flutter at what she's sure she recognizes on his face, as rare as it is, "Wow. I think I'm gonna need photographic evidence of that."

"Well you have my permission."

"I'm _kidding_." Chucking back the cup, she drinks what's left of her tea in one gulp. A refreshed exhale later, she's rising up to stand, in a prepared, ready-to-take-on-the-world attitude. "Okay, ready to turn in our assignment and end this partnership?"

"...No." 

Chiyuki looks crestfallen.

"I'm ready to exchange with our teacher the result of the hard-work from our...enigmatic yet pleasant congregation."

"But, that's _literally what I just_ —." Chiyuki looks a little broken, unbalanced, between smiling and crying—she feels an urge to do both and smiles through a faintly blurring vision. "Saying 'yes' is still a valid answer, Decim."

"Yes, Chiyuki." Decim heads for the door first, to hold it open for her with an arm spread. He doesn't think about if this is the last time she'll enter and leave his dorm. "After you."

 

***   *   *   ***

After they turn in their assignment, and their teacher praises them for sticking with the deadline and says they'll be given their grades at the end of the term, they head out to the Cafe together once again.

Chiyuki orders a second round of tea following earlier, to calm herself. Decim has the day's recommended beverage: gingerbread-latte (which he's oddly stared at for, but he assures Chiyuki—himself, mostly—that it cannot be too bad).

"So, get anything out of working with me? Besides company that isn't your own."

Decim thinks quietly about it long enough for her to believe she's actually offended him with her half-joke that's an obvious dig at his anti-social behavior. Either he doesn't understand, or he doesn't care because he seems alright, carrying on and answering her truthfully. "I thought that my partner and I would find it difficult to work together because I was sure our different personalities would clash."

"They _did_ ," says Chiyuki. She laughs, "But go on."

"And so I thought it wouldn't end well. But working with you, Chiyuki, has been pleasant. I now believe that a life of regret isn't automatically an unfulfilled life. In the end, I've come to a decision about myself: even if I'm not well acquainted with expressing myself, I'd like to be the kind of man who can make the people he's close to understand my intentions, so I can perhaps, as well, encourage them to live a fulfilling life. "

"Oh?" Chiyuki picks up her cup and sips from it, later commenting. "Well, I'm glad for you. You're looking to become a real boy, Pinocchio."

"Am I not real?"

"No, that was a joke."

Decim blinks, so innocent and confused but not about to admit it. "I see."

"You don't really but that's okay."

"I think I have a better perspective of the phrases, also. And I'm not bothered by the grade we receive because I have gained more insight on the capacity of good lives to bad ones. And I'm happy with our contribution to the paired assignment."

"Uh, _that's nice_ but we still want a _passing grade_."

"Of course." Instead of bowing his head this time, he surprises her: moving his hand, he reaches across the table and places it on top of hers. Chiyuki flushes a little and sputters out a demand to know what's going on. And then comes something never seen before—properly, anyway, and it's actually charming, how his lips spread not too far but enough for him to present his very own smile, gentle and sincere, warm. "Thank you, Chiyuki, for working with me. It's been a wonderful experience and a pleasure."

"Yeah...it wasn't so awful." Chiyuki smiles right back at him, her eyes creasing with a twinkle. "It's been nice, Decim."

**Author's Note:**

> _*They played a legit game, it's called Ice-Cream Jump and my current best score is nearly 10k._


End file.
